Round 172

The stone walls' synchronized breathing stops abruptly, leaving behind only a low pulsing hum that grows stronger with each passing second—like the steady beat of some ancient heart counting down to the next phase. Halie feels her fingers brush against the living stone, and the rhythmic thrumming intensifies, almost musical in its persistence. The walls shift their attention toward her, the visible tissue moving sluggishly across the surface like watching eyes adjusting focus.

Jeane maintains her precarious position above the pressure plates, wings beating frantically as she fights against the gravitational pull downstairs where that hypnotic humming grows stronger—trying to lure them closer or maybe just counting down seconds until something changes again. Her arcane flame resistance drops another percentage point under the strain, now hovering at barely functional 43%.

The grinding plates shift rhythm again, 2 seconds closer to crushing everyone between them. Halie's right arm continues its relentless corruption progression—fingers twitching uncontrollably as the cold spreads through her system, grip strength dropping to near zero while the sensation intensifies into pure horror. She scribbles notes on the wall with her left hand, documenting every detail of the spread before mental degradation makes coherent recording impossible.

The newly revealed corridor in the wall pulses with that same rhythmic humming—darkness beyond beckoning like an open mouth waiting to swallow them whole.